


These Scars We Bear

by toewsyourheart



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Apologies, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Forgiveness, Kings in Love, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 08:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14637696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toewsyourheart/pseuds/toewsyourheart
Summary: Damen woke to gentle fingertips at his back, tracing intricate, scattered lines. He furrowed his brow in hazy concentration trying to make sense of the pattern, until—The sudden awareness was jolting, accompanied by a strange, dizzying vulnerability that Damen typically sought to avoid.A pit in his stomach. The rare impulse to cover himself. A crack in his chest that ruptured, split his mind from reason.It was astounding, foolish that he had only just thought of them.-Or, the Kings have an overdue conversation about scars...





	These Scars We Bear

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by these [two](https://watchingtheroad.tumblr.com/search/scars/) amazing artworks...
> 
> doing a nice re-release for 'forgiveness' day of capri month.

Damen woke slowly, blinking his eyes to adjust to the darkness of Laurent’s bedchamber. With thick, velvet curtains drawn, he had little reference for telling time. Heavy Veretian decor contrasted with Akielos in that way, where one could feel the warmth of morning through uncovered windows, the cool breeze off the ocean tickling bare skin. Here, Damen had to open something just to see if the sun had risen, their only source of light a low burning candle on the desk.

Its still-flickering flame was evidence enough that he hadn’t slept long, but whether three minutes or three hours, it had been peaceful, dreamless. Damen had no use for dreams when reality was unmatched by anything his mind could conjure in sleep: Laurent was beside him, equally exhausted from hours spent making love in sweet reunion after weeks of separation.

At the conclusion of the grand, golden spectacle that was Laurent’s ascension, they had departed in opposite directions—Laurent bound for his throne at Arles, Damen for Ios. They would rule the empire together, but newly crowned, it was important for Laurent to give the people of Vere his undivided attention, tenuous in their newfound stability as they were.

He had to give it to them alone.

Damen supported it, but it felt wrong anyway, Laurent’s absence an emptiness in his stomach that ached uncomfortably, and grew. Days dragged miserably into weeks. Damen struggled to focus on anything beyond the distance between them and how desperately he wished to close it. He saw Laurent wherever he looked and wondered about him endlessly. Was he safe? Adjusting well to daily rule as King? Did Laurent miss him? Was he lonely?

Finally pushed past the limits of how long he could endure without him, Damen had left Ios to Nikandros and sailed for Laurent on a whim. The King of Vere had been in Vere for over a month; it was time the King of Akielos made himself of use there as well, if only briefly, for a stolen night or two.

His arrival at Arles was much better received than it had been the last time.

Laurent had not even glanced up from his work when Damen entered his immaculate chambers with no more than a quiet knock. His legs were folded gracefully beneath him, a thick book in his lap that served as a flat surface for writing. He paused, hand freezing atop paper. Coolly inconvenienced, he had said, “I faintly recall a time when retiring for the evening meant no one bothered me until morning.”

A wistful, dramatic sigh.

Damen grinned.

Laurent was still wonderfully Laurent.

“Should I come back then, Your Majesty?” Damen had asked in Akielon, emphasizing Laurent’s new address. It earned him a look, a gasp barely stifled.

“ _Damen_ —”

A brilliant smile, then.

“You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Damen had confirmed, delighted by the audible relief in Laurent’s voice. That same, overwhelming relief permeated through his own chest, both settling and exciting him, the anticipation of having Laurent in his arms growing with every fluttering beat of his heart.

“I was writing to you,” Laurent said, warmly sincere in his surprise. He gestured with his book as evidence, then tossed it aside and got to his feet.

Damen took great pleasure in admiring what he had gone without as Laurent stepped forward, his hair freshly cut from the near shoulder-length, intricate braid he wore at his ascension to chin-length. His feet were bare, and his soft, white bed shirt fell distractingly to upper-thigh, the neckline and long sleeves unlaced. His only adornment was the golden cuff on his wrist. He was open, free and comfortable in a way very few were lucky enough to see him.

In the periphery of his mind, Damen wondered—not without a twinge of jealousy—who had attended him. At the forefront of it, Damen needed to touch every inch of porcelain skin he could see, followed by every inch he could not. He crossed the room to close the remaining distance between them, smiling helplessly—“Writing to tell me you’ve missed me?”

“Yes,” Laurent had confirmed without pretense, settling into Damen’s arms as though he had been made to fit there. “I was struggling to adequately describe it. Now I can show you how much.”

As he lay in the quiet now, Damen grinned fondly to himself at the idea of it: Laurent’s mouth pursed in thought as he wrote, searching for some clever, eloquent way to put the feelings of his heart into words.

Unfortunately awake, Damen had time to ponder what those words might’ve been, to revisit the details of their reunion as he waited to rejoin Laurent in sleep, his body a lovely, solid dip in the mattress at Damen’s back. He thought of what he might write himself, in describing how much he had missed Laurent, how difficult it was to hold the world in his hands and then be without it. He thought of the initial touch of lips, how the first press inside Laurent had felt after so long apart: euphoric, akin to the first time…

Then, he felt gentle fingertips against him, recognizing the sensation, belatedly, as what pulled him from slumber.

Only one of them had slept, then.

Damen held perfectly still as Laurent resumed his delicate tracing, a feather-light touch over the skin of his back. The pattern was intricate, scattered lines, and Damen furrowed his brow in hazy concentration trying to make sense of it, until—

The sudden awareness was jolting, accompanied by a strange, dizzying vulnerability that Damen typically sought to avoid.

A pit in his stomach. The rare impulse to cover himself. A crack in his chest that ruptured, split his mind from reason.

It was astounding, foolish that he had only just thought of them—especially at Arles where sense memories of his… experience could resurface with more clarity—except that he thought of them so little. Damen could count on one hand the number of times he had even laid eyes on them, out of sight, shoved away to the darkest depths of his mind. There were better things to think about.

He had survived it. They had overcome it.

“Laurent—”

Fingers stilled, then vanished.

Damen turned over to find Laurent caught between one breath and the next, his lips pressed into a thin, pensive line. He had withdrawn his hand and held it between them as if he didn’t know what he was allowed to do with it. An unfamiliar position for a King accustomed to doing exactly as he wished.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Laurent said, tucking his hands beneath his chin after another second spent weighing his options. In soft, dim lighting, he looked as he was: young and beautiful, gloriously naked with sheets pooled at his waist, glancing up through long lashes. He was oddly alert for the hour. “I didn’t think I would. You’re a very deep sleeper.”

“Am I?” Damen asked, curious just how often Laurent tested that theory.

“Yes,” Laurent confirmed, then divulged nothing more, leaving room for tension to grow in the quiet space between them.

Damen didn’t like it.

“What were you doing?”

“Thinking,” Laurent answered, simply.

Again, silence.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Damen pressed.

“Is thinking an activity you reserve only for the day?” Laurent asked, a soft smirk playing on his lips.

Teasing was better than silence. Still, Damen felt too far from him, unsettled by his own realization and Laurent’s evasiveness. He cupped his palm against Laurent’s face, thumb gently brushing cheekbone.

“What’s the matter, my King?” Damen began, to which Laurent let his eyes fall closed, drawing in a shaky breath. “Speak to me.”

More silence.

Damen waited.

“During our lengthy separations,” Laurent eventually said, crystal blue eyes blinking open to meet his, “I find that my memory performs a service I do not deserve.”  

It was the preamble to an explanation, followed by another deliberate pause. Damen wished he could drag the answers he sought straight from Laurent’s convoluted mind, as he occasionally got himself stuck there, overthinking, in need of a light to guide him out.

“What service would that be?” Damen asked, carefully coaxing.

“Minimization,” Laurent breathed out, then, “I was just—admiring my handiwork, is all. Reacquainting myself with the extent of my atrocities.”

It was Damen’s turn to be silent, chest growing uncomfortably tight at Laurent’s admission. He had said something like that to Laurent once, at a painful time and place from which he felt entirely removed. His pulse raced, skin flushing hot as memories resurfaced—visceral, cold and unwelcomed. His heart beat too loudly in his chest.

Damen could remember few times, apart from the moment of their delivery and shortly thereafter during healing, that he felt the presence of his scars more prominently: In that same tent, under  Nikandros’s horrified gaze when he first saw them. In the baths at Lentos, the past alive between them, heavy and wordless.

The scars were part of him, physically, but he no longer carried their weight until reminded of it. It was suddenly made worse by being here again, where Damen could leave Laurent’s rooms and have refreshments served in the very same courtyard if he chose it. The flogging post would be gone, but Damen would never forget the place it stood or how it felt to be bound to it, powerless.

A slave.

Laurent went on, “Sometimes I see them and look at you and cannot believe I acted so—” Damen felt the words catch in Laurent’s throat as though they were tearing at his own, Laurent’s internal struggle palpable. “I won’t insult you by pretending it wasn’t premeditated. I wanted to kill you. I thought your suffering would alleviate my own.”

It was brutally honest.

Damen heard himself ask, “And did it?”

Laurent smiled impossibly, touching his face with sure, gentle fingertips, “We both know that you, alive and whole, are the only thing capable of that.”

“It is the same for me,” Damen said, an excuse forming in his mouth. He wanted to retreat back to their blissful reunion, not pick at old wounds. They were happy now. “What happened before was before, Laurent. Another time. The circumstances were—”

_I killed your brother. You were alone. You were hurting._

Damen didn’t say it.

Instead, “Things are different now. They have been.”

“You were different then,” Laurent said, “From the moment I met you, you were never as I imagined you’d be.”

He spoke with something akin to reverence in his voice as fingers traced jawline. It felt nice to have Laurent’s hands on him rather than kept to himself, a calmness washing over him, even as the pain in Laurent’s eyes made Damen physically ache to comfort him.

“You challenged every twisted, hateful notion I had of Damianos of Akielos.”

Laurent said his name with the past on his tongue.

_Prince-killer._

“You were good and honorable, and yet I still—”

Damen stopped him, beseeching, “I don’t hold any of it against you, Laurent. I don’t even think of it. This isn’t necessary.”

“Isn’t it?” Laurent countered, then after a moment in which Damen could say nothing, “I’m so sorry, Damianos. I know I’ve never said it out loud, and that alone warrants another apology, but I am. Eternally. I’d take them from you if I could.”

It was difficult to breathe.

He had never heard Laurent speak this way before, so shaken and repentant in his reflection of events Damen thought behind them. It was flaying him open more so than the lash. In Laurent’s eyes, Damen now saw clearly the remorse he kept hidden so well, the guilt that consumed him. His words touched and soothed some raw, quiescent part of Damen that he had not known existed anymore, and he wished to ease Laurent’s pain in kind, to put the past back where it belonged.

“You can’t take them,” Damen said, “Even if you could, I wouldn’t let you. My forgiveness is yours. It has been.”

Laurent searched his face, cradling it in his hands with a tenderness that still took the air from Damen’s lungs when not anticipating it. He said with seriousness, “I will do all in my power to be worthy of it.”

Damen leaned to press lips to his forehead, murmuring, “You are worthy without stipulation, Laurent. I know exactly who you are and all you’ve done, the scars you bear that cannot be seen. With every ounce of my being, I love you. No matter what life may bring to us, I will love you.”

Then, quietly, “Be free of this.”

Laurent stared for a moment then nodded, almost imperceptibly, as words sunk in—if not to Damen, perhaps to himself, reconciling something nagging within him. Seconds felt like minutes. Previous tensions seemed to transform into desires of a different kind as Laurent held his gaze, inching closer. Damen held still, unassuming. He would let Laurent, vulnerable as he was, decide what happened here.

In the meantime, Damen took Laurent’s wrist, pressing lips to cool metal. The cuff was once a symbol of enslavement, then of necessary alliance. Now, it represented an empire, love that was boundless and unconditional.

His mouth moved to palm, kissing tenderly.

Laurent’s decision came quickly after that.

Long fingers found purchase in Damen’s hair, and he surrendered to Laurent’s advance without hesitation, their mouths meeting in slow, heated desperation. Damen deepened the kiss, savoring the taste of Laurent in his mouth, the feeling of Laurent’s tongue against his. Laurent was rousing, pressing insistently into thigh, his hands fisting in curls before venturing gently to Damen’s back. The touch sent a shiver down his spine.

“I want you,” Laurent said, which sent another, “Again, I want you inside me.”

Arousal hit in a hot, dizzying rush, a groan escaping from deep within Damen’s chest. It was still relatively new for Laurent to speak of his own desires so uninhibited in bed, so explicitly. Outside it, he was notorious for ripping men apart with his filthy mouth and sharp tongue. Damen preferred their utilization here in a more enjoyable context, Laurent’s words turning his mind inside out.

It was convenient they were already naked.

In one swift motion, Damen rolled, bracing himself over Laurent on the bed. A firm hand at the back of his neck drew him down for another kiss, searing and building, bound for pleasure unlike any Damen had ever felt with another.

After a moment spent kissing, moving together with body pressed wonderfully to body, Damen pulled away for air and practicalities—oil from the bedside—leaving Laurent where he lay on his back. It would not be the first time they had done this since Damen’s arrival, nor the second even, so Laurent wouldn’t require the extensive preparations of earlier. He had been so incredibly tight after weeks apart, Damen thought he might come with the first full thrust inside him, well before he had properly brought Laurent to his own end.

Damen had resisted, but only for as long as it took Laurent to come. This time, they would do it more slowly than the second, deliberately, as Laurent liked. He let his eyes fall briefly closed, drawing in a breath to compose himself, and opened them again to find Laurent watching him, a glimmer of amused impatience in his expression.

“You’re very far away,” Laurent remarked, spread beautifully before him in an inviting display, one knee bent to expose his cock, perfectly shaped and pinked at the crown. His cheeks were similarly flushed from kissing. Damen longed to watch it spread over the rest of Laurent’s body as his arousal grew, knowing full well what its course would be: first to his neck and the tips of his ears, then to his chest…

Damen leaned in to run his hands over Laurent’s thighs from knee to hip, enjoying the flex of lean muscle in his grasp. Laurent’s physicality often shocked those around him, overshadowed by the mind, his pretty face and pale hair, the words unleashed from his mouth. But Damen was well acquainted with Laurent’s body, all the places hard and soft and sensitive to thorough attention. He knew the strength it possessed, the hours dedicated to maintaining it. He knew that concealed beneath the effortless grace of a golden King (and too many laces), Laurent was a force in his own right, of brilliant mind and capable hands.

“I could come closer,” Damen said, stalling where he was to press a kiss to the inside of Laurent’s right thigh, “If you’d like.”

Another press of lips, near the apex.

A quiet hitching of breath, squirming.

Damen moved to the the left, kissing smooth, delicate skin, letting his tongue drag leisurely along the join of trunk and thigh.

Laurent moaned.

Damen’s cock twitched.

“Where you are is—acceptable,” Laurent said, as Damen nuzzled his way to hipbone, then peppered sweet, wet kisses toward the center. “For now.”

Sheets twisted in Laurent’s fingers. Damen met the sweet resistance of Laurent pressing up on his toes in response to Damen’s mouth, its trajectory clear: He was going to suck Laurent to his brink, take his mouth to Laurent’s, then finish what he started with his cock inside him.

Damen ran his tongue from the base of Laurent’s erection to the tip, suckling there, hands generously exploring taut stomach and chest, thumbing sensitive nipples. He suddenly wanted to feel the sharp bite of Laurent’s fingernails into the flesh of his shoulders, grip tightening in his hair in time with sensation. He wanted to feel this as Laurent felt it. He wanted so much, both all at once and unhurried, each act savored.

“Touch me, Laurent,” Damen breathed against hot, silky skin. Fingers found hair instantly, lightly scratching at scalp from crown to nape. Damen hummed his approval, then took Laurent deep into his throat before rising again to tease the slit.

“ _Damen_ —” Laurent said, and it came out a breathless moan as Damen repeated the process. He would never tire of hearing Laurent speak his name as if coming apart at his seams, lost in lovemaking in ways he once denied himself. He could taste Laurent’s arousal in his mouth, and Damen knew, unquestionably, that if he continued Laurent would come.

It was not always so simple. The first time Laurent found release that way, it had been a revelation forever etched into Damen’s memory. Neither of them expected it because Laurent had never before allowed it. He had cursed and said, broken off, “Damen, _I’m_ —”

It was the only warning, then he filled Damen’s mouth, gloriously, as he would now if Damen kept going. This, however, was means to a different end.

Laurent would get what he wanted.

Damen slowed, letting his lips catch on the crown of Laurent’s cock as he moved his mouth back and forth. The touch was unpredictable, feather-light, but that often appealed most to Laurent, more responsive to tenderness and delicate attention than anyone Damen had ever been with. Laurent was half-sitting, watching with heavy lids, fingers still loosely tangled in curls. The flush had spread beautifully, as Damen knew it would, the air around them thick with anticipation.

“If you keep doing that,” Laurent said, restrained, brushing a strand of hair from Damen’s forehead in an easy gesture, “I won’t last.”

Damen curled his tongue there, lavishing the tip with soft pressure, sending a satisfying, full-bodied tremor through Laurent. He paused, glancing up with a smirk.

“And so?”

“And so,” Laurent repeated, eyes dark and voice predictably steady despite the subtle heaving of his chest, “I want to come on your cock. If I—” He shifted minutely, making the meaning of his words clear, “l can feel your absence, Damianos. I’ve had quite enough of that the last month.”

Laurent’s mouth would be the end of him. Damen pushed up from his position to capture it in a kiss, guiding Laurent back to the mattress.

“If you keep talking like that,” Damen said, “I won’t last either.”  

“Oh, stop,” Laurent grinned, surprising Damen with a hand between his legs, stroking with a deft twist of his wrist. “You have a reputation to uphold. What was it? Six hours?”

As if he did not remember. Laurent never forgot anything, only pretended when it suited him.

“Seven,” Damen amended, pleased with the change in mood: Laurent was relaxed, smiling against his mouth. As they kissed, hands roamed and thighs parted further, legs loosely wrapped around waist. Lightheartedness was quickly returning to need, powerful and insistent. Oiled fingers pressed where Damen most wanted to be, his arousal unmistakable, aching to be inside. Laurent let out a blissful sigh, a moan building as Damen massaged in slow, coaxing circles.

He held Laurent’s gaze as he spoke, “My reputation is no match for you.” He fit himself at Laurent’s entrance. “My heart is yours, as well as my body.” A long, slow push inside. “That’s the difference.”

“Yes. Damen, yes,” Laurent said, voice reaching its crescendo as Damen went deeper, a hot, perfect slide until hips were flush against him.

It was overwhelming even in stillness.

To be inside Laurent, sheathed in heat that melted the world around him until there was only this. To see Laurent unguarded, clutching at neck and shoulders as he adjusted to fullness. To be allowed this, knowing he would be allowed it for the rest of his days.

Damen had no use for dreams because he lived one.

“Laurent,” Damen said, a breath into his ear, “I need to—”

“Move, Damen,” Laurent encouraged, “Make love to me.”

Damen rocked into him, grinding impossibly deeper before easing out, then inside again—again—again—in a steady, sensuous roll of hips.

Laurent cried out, gasps that grew louder as they gave themselves over to sensation. Damen wanted to chase every precious, uninhibited moan from Laurent’s mouth with his own, to revel in every thrust met. Laurent had placed a hand against the bed railing above his head, using it as leverage to anchor himself, to push himself downward as if he craved it faster, harder. Their bodies came together in perfect rhythm, just like that, the sounds of lovemaking filling the room—ragged breathing, the slickness of oiled skin, and Laurent, talking.

“I missed you—I missed you so much. I missed this. The way you make me feel, I—”

Words cut off into a long moan when Damen drove deep and held, braced above Laurent with a hand at the center of his chest, feeling his heartbeat, wild and erratic, strong. At some pivotal point, it had become what tethered Damen here. Not gravity, but Laurent.

_This_ .

Breathless, Laurent said, “Part of me is lost when we’re not together. I need you, Damen, more than I—”

“You have me,” Damen said, “No matter the distance, I’m yours.”

He placed biting kisses along Laurent’s neck, his collarbones, every place his mouth could reach. Damen enjoyed, perhaps too much, the way Laurent’s sensitive skin turned pink in his wake, so easily marked. His own skin pricked hot at the idea of Laurent wearing evidence of lovemaking long after they finished, walking the palace and bearing them for their house to see. His thrusts grew erratic as he thought of it, as they spiraled toward release, together. It would come too quickly, not quickly enough.

Laurent tugged Damen back in for a kiss, fingers gripping hair. Against his mouth, Laurent murmured, “You’re everything I have.”

It was too much.

Orgasm hit instantly, bright and blinding, and Damen closed his eyes on a shuddered moan, fucking in as he spilled inside him. He barely found the wherewithal to offer Laurent his hand, and when he clutched him, he found his own release had brought Laurent’s, his cock already pulsing, striping his stomach in thick, hot need between them. It was heady, overwhelming. Damen was defenseless against it, every nerve-ending singing with pleasure, his heart full, overflowing.

“Laurent, my love—” Damen gasped, face buried in his neck, breathing him in. He smelled of sunshine, sweet flowers and sex.

Of Damen.

“—My life.”

Laurent let out a sated breath when he was spent, absently dragging fingers through Damen’s hair as they came down, slowly. Damen kissed his neck.

Once.

Twice.

Three times as the moment lingered.

“Damen,” Laurent said, softer now. It was his name Laurent spoke, but like this, Damen recognized it as the proclamation of love that it was intended to be.

He could listen to it forever.

He would.

When Damen finally moved to lay next to him, Laurent quickly wiped himself with sheets, then turned on his side, maneuvering Damen to face away from him, fitting himself, once again, at Damen’s back. It wasn’t a position he was accustomed to, but it felt nice, comforting to be held, Laurent’s hands smoothing over his skin, arms winding around his chest.

Then, unexpectedly, Damen felt lips at his back where Laurent’s fingers had been earlier, gently kissing scars where before he had traced them. The slight tremble of Laurent’s lips matched the tremble of Damen’s body, reacting involuntarily to this tenderness.

Laurent was still making amends, one scar at a time, working to heal what had been damaged. Damen closed his eyes, fought against the sting of tears that threatened to spill at the sentiment.

It wasn’t a position he was accustomed to.

Voice barely higher than a whisper, reaching back to clutch Laurent’s thigh where it curved behind his own, Damen said, “Thank you,” imparting every ounce of overwhelming emotion he felt.

“It was overdue,” Laurent reiterated. Another soft press of lips that Damen felt in his chest. “Far less than you deserve.”

Then another.

“You deserve peace, Laurent,” Damen said, slotting fingers between his where Laurent’s hand rested against chest, squeezing gently. “You’ve given that to me. Let yourself have it, too.”

Laurent kissed his shoulder in answer, a long press of lips, then hooked his chin over it, settling. After a while, he whispered into the space below his ear, “If it wasn’t obvious enough, I’m glad you came. I don’t want to be apart from you for that length of time again.”

Damen huffed a quiet laugh.

“Laurent, I don’t want to be apart from you for any length of time again.”

It wasn’t feasible, he knew, but it was the truth.

“Then stay until I can ride to Akielos with you,” Laurent suggested, arms tightening as if to hold him here. “Arles has nearly seen enough of me. I know I’ve seen more than enough of it.”

“Will our journey from here to there be as eventful as the last?”

Laurent chuckled, “Let us hope not.”

Damen had fallen in love with Laurent on that journey, slowly, then all at once. Amidst playful adventures in brothels, nerve-racking rooftop chases, and close proximity shared in cramped tents, he had watched Laurent blossom into the King he was—the King who would rule an impossibly formed empire at his side. Those were the only aspects he was willing to relive.

Then he thought of something else.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t go to Akielos immediately.”

“Then where?”

“Marlas,” Damen said, oddly nervous speaking of it. It held so much of their past—some of it dark—and hopefully, their future, brighter.

“And what’s there exactly?” Laurent asked.

“Our new palace?” Damen said, a half-question. “We could finally choose a spot for the build?”

A pause, in which Damen could feel Laurent smiling against his neck. He added, “If that suits you.”

“I can think of nothing that would suit me more,” Laurent said, then, “I have one in mind I want to show you,” a stifled yawn in his voice.

“I figured you might,” Damen said. It wouldn’t shock him if Laurent had maps and sketches stashed beneath his bed already, perpetually ten steps ahead. He would inquire tomorrow, but for now—

“Let us sleep, my love.” He took Laurent’s hand, kissed his palm, then placed it back against his chest. “This talk can wait until morning. We have all the time in the world.”

“Time,” Laurent repeated, as though it was the most precious thing.

Damen smiled.

It was.

**Author's Note:**

> this was very cathartic to write, and i hope it was that way to read as well. 
> 
> if you made it this far, thank you! 
> 
> come visit me on tumblr @ my captive prince sideblog: [watchingtheroad](https://watchingtheroad.tumblr.com/)


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